


and longer, if i may

by jemmasimmmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: About Time AU, F/M, Time Travel, eventually baby fic, fluff with a bit of angst, other characters appear but not enough to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/pseuds/jemmasimmmons
Summary: “There is a part of him that knows, deep down, that this is his last chance. If she rejects him now, or chooses the fashionably late boyfriend instead, then that is just the way it is meant to be. No amount of time travel that can make a person love you but Fitz has hope that, just maybe, it can help set you on the right track.“It’s a love story, with a little bit of time travel. An About Time AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to write an fs au to one of my all time favourite films for ages, and finally got around to writing it this month. about time is an absolutely beautiful film, and if you haven't seen it i definitely reccomend it!
> 
> title comes from ellie goulding's 'how long will i love you'. hope you enjoy this!

 

 

There are many possible reactions a person can have to being told they are capable of time travel. Leopold James Fitz, on being sat down by his mother on his twenty-first birthday and told just that, experienced many of these reactions in a very short space of time.

First, he had stared at her, before bursting out laughing. Then, upon realising that she wasn’t laughing with him, he had felt a rush of panic and begun to worry that she had lost all of her remaining marbles instead. It was only after he had begrudgingly shut himself in the cupboard under the stairs – light off, fists clenched: as per Andrea Fitz’s instructions – and found himself transported back to the day before that Fitz came to understand that she was telling the truth.

He had travelled back to the present, opened the door, and said the only thing he could think of to say.

‘Oh, for _fuck_ ’s sake.’

Over the next few years, Fitz experiments tentatively. As much as his mother had been able to explain to him about _how_ their family’s gift of time travel worked, she had been decidedly less helpful in explaining _what_ he was supposed to use it for. And so, he feels obliged to try and figure it out for himself.

He trials it sparingly – suspicious of paradoxes, the butterfly effect, and his own judgement. And each time he uses it, Fitz notes glumly that he always ends up exactly where he’d started, or even worse off than he had been at the beginning. No matter how hard he tries, it always feels like time is pushing him in a certain direction and there is never anything he can do to change its course.

After a particularly disastrous attempt at travelling through time, Fitz makes a decision. Figurately, he shelves his ability, imagining it stacked behind the marmite jar in his kitchen cupboard until an opportunity arose when he might need to use it.

At the time, Fitz is tempted to believe that this might never come.

 

~

 

**_21 st February, 7:26pm_ **

 

‘You mean to tell me that all the waiters in this place are blind?’

Following half a stride behind Trip on their way to the restaurant, Fitz begins to wonder whether he had made a mistake agreeing to go out with his old university friend tonight. It’s a bitterly cold London evening, and he thinks rather wistfully of his sofa at home, where he could be right now listening to his flatmate Hunter recite the latest lines of his next play.

Not that that was particularly riveting, mind you, but at least he’d be in the warm.

Trip turns back to him with a grin. ‘Yeah, that’s the whole point of the place! The waiters are blind, we eat in the dark. Makes the food taste better, apparently.’

‘I can taste my food perfectly well in daylight,’ Fitz mutters, before Trip claps him on the shoulder.

‘Come on, Fitz. Live a little!’

Fitz braces himself for complete darkness the moment they enter the restaurant, but the reception is atmospherically lit with candles, presumably for adjustment. The front of house approaches them and smiles, before inviting Trip to place his hand on their waiter’s shoulder so he can lead them to their table. Resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder in turn, Fitz strains his eyes against the darkness as the waiter leads them down a flight of steps and into the main restaurant, tapping his stick in front of him as he goes.

‘If I may,’ the waiter tells them, ‘I will seat you beside these two young ladies, gentlemen. We are rather full tonight, and I can only hope neither of your parties will mind?’

‘Oh, absolutely not,’ Trip says, and Fitz almost falls flat on his face as his friend ducks out from in front of him to take his seat.

‘Come back to me at the end of the meal,’ Fitz hears a female voice quip from the other side of the table. ‘And I’ll let you know then.’

The waiter guides him to his own chair and Fitz spreads out his arms as he sits, hoping to find the table amid the darkness. He finds its angular corners easily enough, but as he feels along the surface for his napkin, his fingers touch someone else’s hand, warm and soft.

‘Oh!’

Fitz pulls his hand back quickly, hearing the gasp from the person on his right.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I, uh, didn’t realise you were so close.’

There is a laugh, and a rustle of skirts.

‘That’s alright, I feel like there might be a bit more fumbling before the night is out.’ His companion pauses before adding hastily: ‘because it’s so dark, I mean.’

‘Oh! Yes.’ Suddenly, Fitz is grateful for the darkness, because it means she can’t see how deeply red he has flushed. ‘Um, yes. It is very dark.’

(Across the table, he swears he hears Trip.)

‘I was actually looking for my wine,’ the girl says apologetically, and Fitz hears a chink of metal against glass. ‘I don’t suppose you can feel it anywhere…?’

‘Oh…um…’

Tentatively reaching out his hand again, Fitz feels his way to the table and over his plate. His fingers touch the cool base of a wine flute and he catches it up.

‘Is this it?’

He waits, holding it in mid-air until he feels her find it.

‘It is! Thank you.’

‘No worries.’ Fitz rubs his hands against his thighs, before remembering why he had been fumbling in the dark in the first place. ‘I, ah… I don’t suppose you have my napkin over there, do you?’

He hears her chuckle, and for some reason the sound goes straight to his heart.

‘Here.’

She presses it into his hand, and this time Fitz doesn’t flinch away at the touch of her fingers.

 

**_8:44pm_ **

 

Over the meal, he learns that his dinner companion’s name is Jemma, that she thinks every joke he makes is hilarious, and that it is possible to start to fall in love over a roast chicken breast in a blacked-out restaurant.

‘Rather bizarre, isn’t it?’ Jemma says to him once their desserts are served. ‘I know exactly what strawberry cheesecake looks like, but because I can’t see it directly in front of me my perception gets muddled.’

Fitz hears the scraping of her fork against the plate.

‘The image in my head of what I’m eating rather resembles a Monet, as opposed to what I know cheesecake looks like.’

Fitz snorts, digging his spoon into his sundae dish. ‘Do you like Monet?’

‘I _love_ Monet.’ Jemma sighs. ‘If I had my way, the entire world would look like one of his paintings.’ She nudges his shoulder playfully. ‘Can I try yours?’

Taking a mouthful of ice cream onto his spoon, Fitz frowns.

‘Wait, where are you?’

‘Fitz, I’m here…Oh!’

‘Oh no! What was that?’

‘My cheek…’

‘Jemma, I’m so sorry…’

‘No, it’s alright…I’ve got it…’

Fitz imagines her using her fingertip to wipe up the ice cream before tasting it, and a shiver runs down his spine.

‘Mmm…that’s delicious.’

 

**_9:26pm_ **

 

Once their desserts are finished, the waiter asks Fitz and Trip out to pay first. As Fitz stands, rather reluctantly, to leave, he feels a hand tug at his jacket.

‘Maybe…’ He hears the hesitation, and then the hope, in Jemma’s voice. ‘Would you mind waiting outside? Until we come out?’

‘Yeah.’ He answers too quickly, but he is too relieved and too elated to care. ‘Yeah, we’ll wait outside.’

As they emerge from the dining room, Fitz can’t tell whether it is his eyes or his heart that is most disorientated. Somehow, he manages to pay for his food before falling out of the door after Trip, both of them rather dazed.

Standing on the cobbled street outside the restaurant, Trip stands with his leather jacket wide open while Fitz blows on his hands to warm himself up.

‘So,’ Trip says, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. ‘Nice girls, huh?’

‘Nice girls,’ Fitz murmurs in agreement, before hearing the click of the latch behind him and spinning around with his heart in his mouth.

A tall, blonde woman in staggeringly high heels walks out first and when she speaks with an American accent it is with more than a twinge of relief that Fitz realises that this is Bobbi, and not Jemma.

‘Could either of you gentlemen tell me the best place to order a cab?’

Despite addressing both of them, Bobbi clearly directs the question to Trip, whilst flashing a quick, knowing smile in Fitz’s direction. Trip jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the nearest taxi rank.

‘Although, I’ll tell you what…’ he says, as Bobbi steps down to join him, ‘I think I’ll escort you.’

They leave over the cobbles together, almost conspiratorially, and Fitz has just enough time to direct his attention back to the restaurant entrance before another figure appears in the doorway and his breath catches in his throat.

This, he knows without a shadow of a doubt, is Jemma.

She closes the door behind her and walks across the pavement to him. In her slight heels, she is almost his height and as she stands toe to toe in front of him Fitz notices that she has a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. When she smiles nervously up at him, they crease.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

‘It’s nice to…’ Fitz gestures vaguely at her, before instantly regretting the gesture, ‘ _…see_ you.’

Jemma purses her lips together as though she is trying not to laugh, but Fitz watches her smile falter as their eyes meet. Her gaze softens, and he thinks his legs might give way underneath him.

‘Likewise,’ she says thoughtfully, before looking up and blinking. ‘Where did Bobbi-?’

‘Oh!’ Spinning on his heels, Fitz points up the road. ‘Uh, she and Trip went to find a taxi for you two.’

‘Ah.’ Jemma nods, with what might have been a flicker of disappointment. ‘In which case, I suppose I had better follow her…’

She lingers for a moment, and, realises that it will be now or never, Fitz takes a deep breath.

‘Would it terribly wrong if I asked for your number-‘

‘You can say no, of course, but could I possibly ask for your-‘

They both speak at exactly the same time, before breaking off with matching embarrassed laughs.

‘Here,’ Jemma holds out her phone to him with a quiet smile. ‘Put your number in. And if you give me yours, I’ll give you mine. Then, maybe you could text me tomorrow? And we could come up with a time and place to meet again?’

‘Yeah.’ Fitz feels himself grin. ‘That sounds perfect.’

With fumbling fingers, he taps his details into her screen, before passing his own phone to Jemma. He watches as she types in both her name and number, her brow furrowed with concentration as she does so and her shoulder-length brown curls falling across her face. It takes Fitz by surprise quite how much he wants to reach forward and brush them out of her way.

Once she has finished, she holds his phone out for him and he takes it, tucking it carefully back in his jacket pocket.

‘It’s a terrible phone,’ he says apologetically. ‘Awful battery, cracks across the screen. But suddenly, it’s my most treasured possession.’

A slow smile spreads across Jemma’s face, and when she looks up at him her eyes are shining.

‘Goodnight, Fitz.’

Taking a step forward, she lifts herself onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before walking away, glancing back over her shoulder just once to give him a final smile.

Fitz stands rooted to the spot, watching her until she is out of sight. On his cheek, the skin where her lips had touched is still tingling.

‘Goodnight, Jemma.’

 

**_22 nd February, 8:15am_ **

 

The next morning, Fitz practically skips into the kitchen of the flat he shares with Hunter, cheerfully avoiding at least three empty cereal packets on his way to the sink.

‘You alright, Hunter?’

He receives only a despaired groan in return, and turns around to find his friend slumped at the kitchen table surrounded by open sheets of the morning’s newspapers and pools of milk. He has a pair of large sunglasses perched on his nose and is nursing an overflowing bowl of Frosties.

Shaking his head, Fitz makes two cups of tea and carries the mugs over to the table. Setting one down in front of Hunter, he gives him a sympathetic look.

‘How was it?’

Pushing the glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, Hunter shoves a few of the papers at him. Straightening out the broadsheets, Fitz sees that they are all open to the reviews of his flatmate’s play, that had opened the night before. He skim reads one, before flicking to another, feeling his mouth run dry as he struggles to find a positive word in any of them.

‘Oh, no.’

‘Oh, yes.’

Reaching the end of the reviews, Fitz gulps. ‘I, uh, take it that it didn’t go so well then.’

‘Didn’t go so well?’ Hunter repeats, before pulling off his sunglasses to glare at him. ‘It was a bloody disaster, mate. I don’t think you can call it anything else, not when your lead actor forgets his bloody lines in the first bloody scene of the play!’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Fitz can feel his mind ticking, like the seconds on a clock. ‘What about the second showing? That’s tonight, isn’t it?’

Hunter snorts. ‘Too late now, isn’t it? The word’s out. People aren’t about to come and spend their money to watch some poor bugger stand on a stage in silence for an hour.’ He sighs and lifts his mug of tea to his lips, downing half its contents in one gulp. ‘Last night was my last, and only, chance. And there’s no bloody way of getting it back now.’

Knowing exactly what he has to do, Fitz pushes his chair out from under him.

‘Stay here,’ he says, ‘I’ll fix this.’

Leaving Hunter staring after him, and before he can ask him exactly _how_ he intended to fix it, Fitz hurries to his bedroom. As he shuts the door behind him and pulls the curtains closed, he sees his phone light up on his bed. Glancing over, Fitz feels his heart jump when he sees that the message is from Jemma.

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and closes his hands into fists.

He’ll text her just as soon as he gets back from yesterday night.

 

**_21 st February, 11:52pm_ **

 

It takes Fitz three attempts to make sure Hunter’s play runs smoothly.

On his first, he suggests to the wrong actor that he refresh himself on the lines before taking to the stage. On his second, he finds the right actor, but the stubborn man evidently refused to take his advice and ended up tongue tied in front of the audience after all.

On his third try, Fitz decides to leave nothing to chance. As soon as the curtain comes up, he tells Hunter he needs the bathroom and edges out of his seat, before sprinting backstage to collect the cue cards he’d made. When the lead actor inevitably goes blank, it only takes a well-aimed Skittle to his head to get his attention and show him the lines he needs to deliver.

Much to Fitz’s relief, the rest of the play goes without a hitch and when he catches up with Hunter at the after-party, his friend has a beer in his hand and is in much higher spirits.

‘Six reviewers!’ He tells him, slapping him hard across the back. ‘All wanting interviews for tomorrow’s papers. How’s that for an opening night, eh?’

Fitz grins, trying to not let on how much the thump had hurt. ‘I guess you’d consider this to have been a success then?’

‘ _Success_ ,’ Hunter claims dramatically, ‘is an understatement.’ He takes a swig of his beer and then frowns. ‘Although you missed quite a lot of it, mate. Everything alright?’

Remembering that Hunter thought he had been in the toilets for half the performance, Fitz thinks quickly. ‘Oh, yeah. Just, uh…had a dodgy kebab for lunch.’

The ease with which Hunter nods understandingly at the lie tells Fitz that they really need to find a better takeaway.

When the reviewers start to crowd them at the bar he takes his leave, nodding at Hunter before he goes, and slips his phone out from his jacket pocket. Maybe, he thinks absently as he scrolls through his messages, he’d get a chance to see the play the whole way through sometime. He wonders whether Jemma likes the theatre…

Her text doesn’t come up in his messages and Fitz frowns, sinking onto a nearby chair. Switching to his contacts, he types the letter ‘J’ into the search bar, but when her name doesn’t come up there either he starts to panic.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realise what has happened. He’d travelled back in time; Jemma’s number had never been in his phone and, when Fitz glances at his watch to see that it has gone midnight, he knows that it never would be. Even if he ran across the city to the restaurant now, she and Bobbi would be long gone by the time he got there.

With a frustrated moan, Fitz drops his phone onto his lap and, not for the first time, curses his family gift.

He might have helped Hunter, but in doing so he’d let something that could have been incredible slip right through his fingers.

 

**_15 th March, 6:48pm_ **

 

Over the next few weeks, Fitz tries to forget all about Jemma and the night they’d never actually spent together after all. He goes to work, comes home, listens to whatever snippets of dialogue Hunter had written that day, and then he goes to bed.

But it’s no good.

As he is lying there, staring up at the ceiling and waiting to fall asleep, all that he can think about is the way her eyes had twinkled when she’d laughed, the way she’d touched his hand in the dark room, and the way that three hours with her had started to feel like home.

He tries not to let his disappointment show too much, but it is difficult, especially when Hunter is still so smug over the acclaim of his play.

‘Oi!’ Over dinner one night, about three weeks after he and Jemma had not gone for dinner, Fitz gets another review waved in his shepherd’s pie. ‘Can I read you this one?’

Knowing that Hunter is going to read it to him whatever he says, Fitz groans. ‘No.’

‘According to this wanker,’ Hunter says, reading off the newspaper excitedly, ‘you’re living with the best playwriting talent Britain has produced in a decade!’

With a scoff, Fitz pulls his attention away from his dinner plate and is about to shove the broadsheet back into Hunter’s face when an advert on the back of the paper catches his eye. It is for a new exhibit down at the National Gallery opening the next day, utterly exclusive and there for a week only. The painter being exhibited, Fitz reads with a thumping heart, is Monet.

‘That’s fantastic,’ he mumbles.

‘Too right it is!’ Hunter sounds delighted as he rips the review out of the newspaper before tossing the discarded sheets onto the floor. ‘And about bloody time somebody noticed, if you ask me…Fitz? What are you doing?’

While he had been speaking, Fitz had gotten clumsily to his feet, his head spinning with ideas.

‘I…I have to plan. I’ve got to take a week’s holiday from work, figure out a shift schedule. I’ll have to ask Daisy down, she won’t mind. Oh, and provisions! I’ll need flasks of tea, energy bars, sandwiches…’

‘Fitz, mate.’ Hunter has put down his knife and fork, and is staring up at him utterly baffled. ‘What the bloody hell are you talking about?’

With a giddy laugh, Fitz reaches out to pluck the play review from his hands.

‘She loves Monet!’ he tells him, before hurrying out of the room and leaving Hunter staring after him once more.

 

**_16 th March, 9:00am_ **

 

Inside the exhibition hall at the National Gallery, Fitz finds a reasonably comfortable bench with a full view of the visitor’s entrance to make his base for the week. From the information desk, he purchases two unlimited passes to the exhibition, one of which he tucks into his wallet and the other he gives to his adopted sister, Daisy.

He had texted her the night before, giving the barest minimum of details: _in love. need help. staking out impressionist paintings all week. fancy it? x_. He had never received a text back, only a phone call at 6am the next morning, informing him that she’d gotten the overnight train down from Glasgow, that she was waiting at Euston station, and could he come and pick her up, please?

As Fitz had driven them both back to the flat at 6:49am, Daisy snoring on the backseat behind him, he had thought with a yawn that there was no one in the world better than his little sister.

‘Thanks.’ Daisy tucks her ticket safely into her bra and settles back on the bench. ‘Do you really think we’ll be here all week?’

‘Uh, maybe.’ Fitz scratches at his cheek. ‘She might not be able to get out of work until Friday, so I figured it was best to be prepared. Thanks for doing this for me, though.’

‘Hey, no problem. You fall in love about once a century, so I figured the least I could do was play Cupid and help your heart along.’

A swarm of people enter the exhibit, and Fitz sits up a little straighter, scanning their faces. There are several women in the group, but none of them have Jemma’s eyes, hair, or smile. Disappointed, and annoyed with himself for thinking it would be that easy, he slumps back down again.

‘Speaking of love,’ he turns to Daisy. ‘How’s Miles?’

At the mention of her boyfriend, his sister rolls her eyes. ‘Dumped me, again.’

‘Bastard.’

‘Yeah.’ Daisy screws the cap off his flask and pulls a face when she realises it contains only tea. ‘He’s going to ask me out again soon, though.’

Turning his head to look at her, Fitz frowns. ‘What, and you’re going to say yes?’

Daisy gives him a pointed look and reaches out one hand to the top of his head. Slowly, she turns him away from her so that he is facing the door again.

‘Eyes on your own prize, dingbat.’

 

**_18 th March, 1:34pm_ **

 

Monday and Tuesday pass uneventfully. Daisy plugs in her headphones and listens to audiobooks with her feet swung onto his lap, while Fitz fidgets with his hands, eyes forever on the doorway. Hundreds of people pass through the doors each day, and his disappointment grows every time that none of them is Jemma.

It is on Wednesday that his luck finally changes. He and Daisy have just finished eating lunch, a laborious process which involved multiple discreet ducking of heads to their bags to take bites from their sandwiches, all without the security guard noticing. It takes about an hour for them both to eat their Tesco meal deals and when Fitz looks up again, licking mayonnaise off his fingers, his heart drops to his stomach.

He has no way of telling quite when Jemma had arrived or how long she’d been there, but, frankly, that didn’t matter at all. All that mattered was that she was here, and that the universe had given him a second chance.

Fitz doesn’t realise that he’s jumped to his feet until Daisy appears at his shoulder.

‘Is that her?’

He nods, incapable of words, as he watches Jemma approach a painting. The look on her face as she stares up at it is full of excitement, passion and awe; somehow, it makes her look even more beautiful than he remembered.

‘Well, then go!’

Daisy gives him a gentle shove in the shoulder, and when Fitz glances back at her she is grinning from ear to ear. Giving her a dazed smile in return, he takes a deep breath and steps towards Jemma.

She turns away from the painting before he can reach her, and Fitz follows her into the next gallery. Despite the way his every nerve is tingling with anticipation, he finds himself strangely reluctant to disturb her. There is something so endearing about the way Jemma is regarding the paintings, as if she is trying to absorb every aspect and commit it to memory, which makes part of him want to keep on watching her.

Eventually though, he musters up the courage to reach out and tap her on the shoulder.

Jemma turns around, and she blinks at him before smiling pleasantly.

‘Oh! Hello.’

‘Hi.’ Fitz breathes out the word, feeling himself start to grin involuntarily. ‘It’s so great to see you again.’

The smile on Jemma’s face doesn’t falter, but she tilts her head at him in puzzlement. ‘That’s very kind of you to say…but I don’t believe we’ve ever met before.’

‘Oh.’ Fitz’s jaw drops as the realisation that, for her, they _haven’t_ hits him like a ton of bricks. ‘Oh, no.’

For one, horrible moment, they stare at each other wordlessly until Jemma reaches out a hand with a sympathetic look to pat his shoulder.

‘I’m afraid you must have mistaken me for someone else.’

‘Yes,’ Fitz says dumbly, ‘I’m afraid I must’ve.’

With a last, uncertain smile, Jemma steps away from him and into the next room. Fitz’s body starts to move of its own accord, and he shuffles back into the main gallery feeling like he has just been slapped in the face.

Daisy is waiting for him when he gets back to the bench, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

‘Well? How did it go?’

‘Bad.’ Fitz groans, running both his hands down his face. ‘Really bad.’

‘Oh, crap.’

‘Yeah.’

‘ _Really_ bad?’

‘Really, _really_ bad.’

‘Oh, _crap_.’

Fitz can’t believe it. He almost wants to laugh; a gurgle rises in his throat and he chokes it down. The universe had given him a second chance and he’d managed to blow it, once again.

Daisy exhales slowly, before pursing her lips and fixing him with a determined stare. ‘Then we’ll try again.’

‘Wait, what?’

Daisy doesn’t answer him. Instead, she dives down to collects their bags, throws his rucksack onto his shoulder, then places both hands firmly on his back and starts to steer him through the gallery.

They pass the room where his disastrous second first-meeting with Jemma had happened and into the next, where Fitz recognises Bobbi instantly, her blonde head bowed over Jemma’s darker one as they stand together next to a set of paintings. Before he has a chance to process what is about to happen, Daisy had positioned them both right behind the two girls before clearing her throat pointedly.

Jemma and Bobbi both turn to face them, and Fitz feels his heart skip a beat at the smile that flickers over Jemma’s face as she recognises him.

‘Hi,’ he says for the second time.

She chuckles softly. ‘Hello, again.’

Next to her, Bobbi looks stumped. ‘I’m sorry, do you two know each other?’

‘Not really, no,’ Jemma answers, and Fitz notices the curiosity with which she is regarding him. ‘We’ve never met before.’

‘Yeah,’ he croaks, before quickly clearing his throat. ‘We, uh, ran into each other in the other room.’

‘Which,’ Daisy interjects, popping her head around his back and waving at the girls, ‘I guess means you two kind of do know each other after all.’

Jemma laughs politely, but Bobbi isn’t quite convinced. ‘Wait, aren’t you the guys that the person on front desk told me about? The two weirdoes who bought weekly passes and have been here all day, every day since the exhibit opened?’

‘No,’ Fitz lies, at the same exact moment that Daisy says, ‘yes.’

He shoots her a glare, before hastily amending: ‘I mean…yes, that’s us. But I wouldn’t say we’re weirdoes, not exactly, I just…’

Hesitating, he glances up at Jemma’s expectant face and gulps.

‘I just really, really like Monet.’

‘Oh, brother,’ Bobbi mutters, as Jemma’s eyes light up beside her.

‘ _Really_?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ Glancing around him wildly for something suitable to say, Fitz gestures to the pictures on the walls. ‘I just love the way he uses his, uh…paint.’

Behind him, he hears Daisy slap her palm against her forehead, but Jemma doesn’t seem to notice as she takes a step closer to him, eagerly.

‘You know, it’s his use of colour that always takes me so by surprise. Wouldn’t you agree that that’s really what makes all the impressionists stand out, especially in a world that was becoming so permeated by photographic art, that they were able to create a snapshot of such ordinary life and infuse it with such extraordinary colour?’

‘Um…’

Fitz is saved from having to respond to her passionate outpour by Daisy, who interrupts again with an apologetic grimace.

‘Listen, the thing is, I really have to go and I promised my brother here that I’d stay with him until we’d seen the whole exhibition. Is it okay if he comes along with you guys?’

‘Of course it is!’ Jemma gushes, before glancing up at Bobbi. ‘I mean, it _is_ , isn’t it?’

Bobbi sighs, before nodding at Fitz begrudgingly. ‘You’re kind of cute, and seeing as you’re not a weirdo, sure. I don’t see why not.’

‘Perfect!’ Fitz screws up his face, as Daisy grabs him and kisses his cheek enthusiastically. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see a man about getting a refund for a mistakenly purchased weekly pass.’

She drifts off, and Jemma tucks her arm into Fitz’s contentedly. ‘Now, we’ve already seen the early works room, since that was where we first met. So, if we just consult the map, it’ll tell us where we need to go next…’

As she leads him off into the next part of the gallery, Fitz twists his head around to watch Daisy leave. His sister has half a cereal bar in her mouth as she makes for the exit, and as she catches his eye he manages to mouth: _thank you_.

Daisy winks at him, before flashing two thumbs up and disappearing out the door.

**_4:04pm_ **

 

They end up in the Gallery café, once Fitz’s stomach starts grumbling as they pass the Holbein’s. He flushes red to the tips of his ears but Jemma only laughs, before gently turning him in the direction of the café.

He agrees to share a strawberry scone with her, and takes charge of the teapot to pour them both out a cup while Bobbi settles back in a chair with her latte.

‘Mmm.’ Jemma closes her eyes as she takes a bite of the scone. ‘That’s so delicious. I love strawberry.’

‘Me too.’ Having already polished off his half of the treat, Fitz brushes the crumbs from his fingers and glances sideways at her. ‘You know, whenever I’m in a restaurant, strawberry cheesecake is always my desert of choice.’

‘Is it _really_?’

‘Yeah.’ Feeling a pang of satisfaction at the stunned look on her face, Fitz sits up a little straighter. ‘It is.’

‘Huh.’ Jemma appears to consider this information, before lifting her cup to her lips with a smug smile. ‘Personally, I’d always go for ice cream.’

Fitz is almost about to laugh out loud, when Jemma’s phone buzzes on the end of the table. Bobbi leans forward expectantly.

‘Is it him?’

Checking the screen, Jemma sighs. ‘Yes, it’s him. He’s heading over now.’

With the stirrings of uneasiness starting in his gut, Fitz swallows hard. ‘Who is it?’

Jemma turns to him and gives a slight roll of her eyes. ‘Just my boyfriend.’

 _Boyfriend_.

The word turns the blood in Fitz’s veins to ice, and he has to put his cup and saucer back down on the table.

 _Boyfriend_.

As Jemma and Bobbi discuss the quickest way for him to get to them, Fitz sits in silence with his stomach churning as he tries to figure out how the _hell_ this had happened. He is fairly sure Jemma had not mentioned having a boyfriend the first time they had met; after all, she had asked for his number and willingly given him hers. And he can’t believe that she is the type of person to cheat on somebody else, she simply couldn’t be.

He taps tentatively at Jemma’s shoulder and she turns to him with one eyebrow raised.

‘So, uh…have the two of you been together long?’

‘Oh, not long at all. Actually, I don’t even think it’s been a fortnight yet.’ Jemma leans towards him conspiratorially, and Fitz can smell the perfume on her skin. ‘He seems to think he’s in it for the long run, but between you and me…he’s a bit boring.’

She chuckles, and Fitz laughs unconvincingly, his head still spinning.

This, he decides, must be what was known as a _cruel twist of fate_. He had, quite unbelievably, been given a second chance with the most incredible person he’d ever met – and he’d met her _twice_ , now – and yet he was still too late for their timing to be right.

It takes far too long for the realisation to dawn on him, but when it does Fitz could kick himself for being so slow. The universe, he thinks with a rush of adrenaline, could take a long walk off a short plank. From here on out, he was making his _own_ fate.

‘Where did it happen, then?’ he asks, feeling his foot start to tap on the floor.

Jemma looks a little bemused at the bluntness of his question but obliges: ‘oh, at Bobbi’s flat. She was holding one of her ghastly parties…’

‘Hey! My parties,’ Bobbi interrupts indignantly, ‘are the exact opposite of ghastly.’

‘It was ghastly,’ Jemma says decisively to him.

‘Okay, but where _exactly_ was this party being held?’

Bobbi pulls a face. ‘Why is it so important to you to know?’

Seeing the map of the Monet exhibit lying on the table, Fitz thinks on his feet.

‘It’s just that whenever I’m told a story, I like to really imagine it. I like to create a snapshot of it, you know?’ He glances over at Jemma. ‘I like to paint an impressionist painting in my mind.’

She nods, emphatically, and looks beseechingly at Bobbi. ‘Oh, what harm can there be in telling him?’

Bobbi throws up her hands in defeat and gives him her address. ‘And it started at eight,’ she adds, ‘in case that helps you imagine what colour the sky was, or whatever.’

‘It does help,’ Fitz says, sincerely. ‘Thank you. And, Jemma, what time did you get there?’

‘I was there all afternoon, helping set up.’

‘And your…’ Fitz stumbles over the word. ‘Boyfriend?’

Jemma snorts. ‘He was late, as usual. What he would call _fashionably_ late, but I would call _rude_. I told him so; in fact, our first conversation was when-‘

She stops, as Fitz stands abruptly and takes a ten pound note out of his pocket and tucks it under his cup.

‘I’m afraid,’ he says apologetically, ‘you’ll have to excuse me, ladies, because I have to leave. Immediately. Right now.’

‘Oh.’ Jemma’s face falls, and she starts to scramble for her handbag. ‘Well, let me find a pen and we can swap numbers, maybe go for coffee sometime…’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Fitz assures her. Crouching down so they are face to face, he looks into her eyes and smiles. ‘Trust me, Jemma. I’ll find you.’

For a moment, Fitz thinks he sees a flicker of recognition cross her face, but then she laughs.

‘It’s only because I like you, Fitz, that I don’t find that creepy at all.’

Fitz grins, raising his hand to both of them in farewell. ‘That works for me.’

Their table in the café had been next to an empty archway leading into a dark, cordoned-off room, and it is into this that Fitz ducks to prepare himself to time-travel.

‘Do you think he knows,’ he hears Bobbi’s voice drift around the corner, ‘that he just marched into an empty conference room?’

‘Hmm.’ Jemma gives a concerned hum. ‘I’m sure he’ll come back if he can’t find a way out.’

‘I’m not sure I entirely agree that he’s not a weirdo,’ Bobbi decides, ‘but I liked him, in the end. He was cute.’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz hears Jemma say, almost to herself. He might be imagining it, but he is fairly sure he can hear her smile. ‘He really was.’

Bracing his back against the wall, Fitz tucks his fingers into fists and waits.

 

**_5 th March, 8:02pm_ **

 

Bobbi’s house is exactly what he’d expected – sleek, modern, and fill to bursting with people. As he squeezes his way through the front room, Fitz wonders how the hell he is supposed to find Jemma when all the guests here are at least a head taller than him.

He turns around, and finds himself face to face with Bobbi herself.

‘Uh, hi,’ Fitz mutters, holding out the wine he’d brought as a gift.

Bobbi gives him a strange look as she takes the bottle. ‘Hello. Do I know you?’

‘No, you don’t,’ Fitz says, deciding that it was best to be truthful as far as he could be. ‘But I do know Jemma.’

Bobbi nods her head, as though this cleared everything up, and places a beer into his empty hand. ‘Well, thank God for that. I was starting to worry that I was her only friend. Sausage roll?’

She offers him a platter full of the snacks, and Fitz politely takes one. Popping it into his mouth, he immediately regrets the action. Bobbi leans in and covers her face with her drink.

‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she murmurs, ‘but I accidentally tipped the salt packet into the dough mix while I was making them. My plan is to get everybody so drunk that they don’t notice.’

She winks at him, before floating off with the platter in her hand to offer the offending rolls to more unsuspecting guests. Fitz waits, a smile pasted on his face, until she is out of sight and then discreetly spits his out into a napkin.

 _Ghastly indeed_ , he thinks.

Wiping his hand across his mouth, he wanders out into the garden with the hope of subtly depositing the napkin under a bush or something, when something stops him dead in his tracks.

Jemma is sitting on a cast-iron bench under a trellis of warm fairy lights, both her legs tucked up underneath her and huddled under a coat. Only the top of her head and her eyes peek out of the collar, and the sight of her makes Fitz feel warm to the bone.

He hastily shoves the sausage roll into a nearby plant pot and takes a step forward.

There is a part of him that knows, deep down, that this is his last chance. If she rejects him now, or chooses the fashionably late boyfriend instead, then that is just the way it is meant to be. No amount of time travel that can make a person love you but Fitz has hope that, just maybe, it can help set you on the right track.

He takes a seat on the bench beside her and smiles. ‘Hello.’

Jemma looks a little embarrassed, and quickly pulls her coat down. The friction makes her hair go static, and she pats at it hastily. ‘Hi.’

‘I’m Fitz.’ He holds out his hand to her. ‘Please to meet you.’

‘Jemma.’ The hand she offers him is ice cold. ‘And likewise.’

For a moment, they sit in silence while Fitz franticly searches his mind for something to say next, realising that for all his bravado he really hadn’t thought this far ahead in his planning.

‘What do you think about Monet?’ he blurts out unexpectedly.

Jemma’s head swivels to him. ‘What did you say?’

‘Monet,’ Fitz repeats. ‘Let’s talk about Monet.’

There is a look of disbelief in Jemma’s eyes, and he almost thinks that she is going to laugh. ‘I _love_ Monet.’

‘Personally, it’s his use of colour that amazes me so much,’ Fitz says, stretching back on the bench in an attempt at nonchalance. ‘I think that’s really what makes all the impressionists stand out, especially since their world that was becoming so permeated by photographic art. They were able to create a snapshot of such ordinary life and infuse it with such extraordinary colour.’

Jemma clamps her hand over her mouth, her eye dancing under the glow of the lights above them. ‘That’s…precisely what I think. Yes!’

 _I’m falling in love with you_ , Fitz thinks, as he finds himself saying: ‘do you want to get dinner with me?’

He doesn’t regret it at all, not even when Jemma blinks at him incredulously. ‘Do…do you mean _now_?’

‘Why not?’ He shrugs. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get anything decent to eat around here, and I am bloody _starving_.’

This time, Jemma laughs out loud.

‘You know,’ Fitz continues, feeling his confidence grow with every second he sits with her, ‘I was actually wondering about skipping dinner altogether, and going straight to dessert.’

‘ _Straight_ to dessert?’ Jemma raises her eyebrows.

‘An ice cream buffet,’ Fitz teases. He turns his head to her. ‘How does that sound?’

Jemma purses her lips, as though she is pretending to consider.

‘I think,’ Fitz muses aloud, feeling his heart start to thump inside his chest. ‘That I’ll get strawberry ice cream first…’

Jemma lets out a short laugh, her breath coming out in a cloud in front of them. Shaking her head, she slips her arms into her coat properly and unfurls her legs, before getting to her feet and holding out her hand to him.

‘Aren’t you coming?’

 

**_8:23pm_ **

 

After all that, Jemma insists that they ought to go for a proper meal before heading on to the ice cream parlour. As a compromise, Fitz suggests that they choose their restaurant based on its dessert menu to save them time, and Jemma readily agrees.

They end up in a small Italian place, with red checked table cloths and candle sticks burning low. They have the place almost entirely to themselves, and Fitz can feel the waiters’ smiles as they watch on from the bar.

‘So,’ he asks, digging into his pasta dish, ‘what do you do?’

Jemma finishes her mouthful of ravioli before answering him. ‘I work at a publishers’ office. I read the manuscripts that get submitted before they get put through to editing.’

‘Wait, wait…’ Fitz drops his fork to stare at her. ‘So, not only do you get to read books for a living, but you get to read books that no one else had read yet? That sounds like a dream.’

Jemma laughs. ‘Oh, it’s far harder than it sounds, I assure you. It took me months to perfect my filing system and don’t even get me _started_ on the colour coding…’

Fitz drops his head to his dinner, if only to hide the grin on his face and the warm affection he can feel radiating from his every pore.

‘What about you?’ Jemma pats the corners of her lips with her napkin. ‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I’m a lawyer.’

‘Ah!’ There is a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Does that mean you have to wear the wig? And the gown?’

‘Sometimes,’ Fitz admits, and Jemma claps her hands and giggles.

‘Oh, I can just imagine it. I bet you look absolutely _dashing_ …’

‘Okay, enough of that.’ He waves away her teasing, red faced, and eyes the heap of mushrooms she has side-lined on her plate. ‘Tell me more about reading for a living. Does it ruin it?’

Jemma frowns, and tips the mushrooms into his dish. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘I mean when you read a book for fun, is it ruined because it’s what you do for work?’

Lifting her wine glass, Jemma shoots him a look that Fitz interprets as a challenge. ‘When you have an argument with someone, is it ruined because it’s what _you_ do for work?’

‘Touché.’

The waiter who clears away their plates hands them the dessert menu, and they order three flavours of ice cream and a vanilla panna cotta. Jemma doles out portions for the both of them, and Fitz smiles as he watches her carefully place the fresh strawberry that had come with the ice cream into his bowl.

‘What made you come up to me?’ she asks quietly after a few minutes. ‘At the party?’

Fitz swallows his mouthful. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘There were dozens of people at that party,’ Jemma notes. ‘And you came and sat with me.’

‘Yeah. I did.’

‘Why?’

For a moment, Fitz doesn’t reply. He wonders, fleetingly, what she would say if he told her that he’d met her twice before in two separate versions of the past and the future, and that in every timeline she had stolen his breath away. He wonders what she would say if he told her that he was already half-way to being head over heels in love with her.

In the end though, he decides to tell her the truth.

‘Because I love your smile,’ he says. ‘I think it’s beautiful.’

Jemma’s entire face softens, but before she can reply the waiter returns with their bill. After paying it, they step out onto the street, the cool chill of the spring air fresh on their cheeks. The comfortable energy between them that had grown throughout their dinner doesn’t disappear; instead, Fitz notices that it has changed into something low and exciting that feels like it could be ignited at any moment.

He shivers, feeling the anticipation curl around them both like smoke.

Jemma turns to him. ‘Would you like to walk me to my car?’ she asks softly.

‘Yeah. Sounds like a plan.’

She slots her fingers into his and leads him off into the dark.

 

**_10:24pm_ **

 

‘Did you have trouble parking?’

Jemma blinks up at him. ‘Beg pardon?’

Fitz hadn’t mentioned anything when she’d begun to walk him away from the direction of Bobbi’s flat and the party. Truthfully, he’d been far too wrapped up in the feel of her hand in his and the hilarious story she was telling him to notice at the time, but now, as they walk arm in arm along Greenwich Park, he feels he ought to speak up.

‘Your car,’ he repeats, hoping he doesn’t sound like a complete idiot. ‘I mean, I know London’s a _nightmare_ for parking, but we passed Bobbi’s twenty minutes ago.’

‘Ah.’ Jemma tucks her hand even tighter into the crook of his elbow. ‘Fitz, I’m afraid I deliberately misled you earlier.’

‘Oh?’

‘Mmm. You see, I took the bus to Bobbi’s. I didn’t take my car at all, it’s still parked in front of my house.’

‘…Oh.’

Fitz feels Jemma’s eyes on him, and when he glances down at her he sees that she has coloured underneath her freckles.

‘So, I suppose,’ she says slyly, ‘when I asked if you wanted to walk me to my car what I really meant was if you wanted to walk me _home_?’

They had been walking slowly in the first place, but when she says this they come to a complete stop, their hands slipping apart. Fitz gives a slow exhale, his breath as visible in the air between them as Jemma’s delicate proposal.

She smiles at him, unassuming, and he gives her his answer as he takes her hand once more.

‘I think I can handle that.’

 

**_10:51pm_ **

 

Jemma’s flat is on the corner of a quiet residential street with a handful of independent shops and a Co-Op. She pauses next to a deep blue Fiat Panda and taps the hood.

‘My car,’ she says, before turning to point to a second floor window above a greengrocer. ‘And my home.’

‘Ah.’ Fitz nods, suddenly finding that his mouth has gone incredibly dry. He swallows, and licks his lips. ‘That makes sense.’

Jemma chuckles quietly.

She is still holding his hand, but loosely enough for her to step in front of him without twisting their arms together. Their bodies are close, closer than they had ever been before, and Fitz can feel his heart hammering underneath his jacket. They are close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath on his neck when she speaks, and it makes shivers run down his spine.

‘Thank you,’ Jemma says, ‘for such a wonderful evening.’

‘S’okay,’ Fitz murmurs back.

Jemma’s eyelids flutter, and when she lifts herself forwards towards him, Fitz feels his own eyes fall shut too.

The first kiss is soft and sweet. Both their noses are cold and Jemma’s lips are slightly sticky, the taste of ice cream lingering on them still. Fitz can feel her heart beat in tandem with his as their bodies move together, their lips exploring each other’s.

When Jemma starts to slip away he isn’t ready, and his hand moves from her waist to the small of her back as he kisses her again, holding her as gently as he can. Jemma cups his face, her fingers trailing all the way down his cheek to stop on his chest. She kisses him back, and Fitz can feel the rest of his life in the shape of her lips.

He isn’t sure how long it is before they pull apart. All he knows is that the instant they do, he wants to kiss her again.

Jemma’s lips form a smile, still pressed against his own, and Fitz hears the jangling of keys in her hand.

‘Want to try and make it an even better evening?’

She lets them into her flat and leaves him standing in the living room as she hurries into her bedroom next door. Fitz can hear the slamming of drawers and muffled cursing, and he imagines her stuffing her clothes out of the way and kicking things underneath the bed. Glancing around the room, he notices the neatly bound folders on the bookshelves, with a stack of manuscripts and pack of marker pens sitting on the coffee table. When he leans in closer, Fitz can see the colour coding chart lying next to them and feels a sudden affection bloom in his chest.

After a few minutes, the commotion in Jemma’s room falls silent, and Fitz takes that as his cue to enter. Sucking in a deep breath to try and control the butterflies in his stomach, he knocks softly at the door.

Jemma is waiting beside the bed, her hands clasped in front of her. She has taken off her coat and her make-up, and she has brushed her hair so that it frames her face like a copper cloud. She gives him a strangely shy smile, and Fitz smiles back, just as he trips over the rug and almost falls flat on his face.

‘ _Oh_ , Fitz-!’

‘I’m okay!’ Quickly righting himself, he reaches out to take the hand she is holding out to steady him. ‘I’m okay,’ he repeats, and straightens up.

Jemma had hurried forward to help him when he’d stumbled, and now they are both standing at the foot of her bed. The bedroom curtains are open, the street lamps outside casting the room in warm, amber haze, and Fitz notices the way that the light catches Jemma’s eyes as she stares up at him.

She is looking at him with the exact same want he can feel shaking in his fingertips.

‘Good,’ she breathes, before drawing him down to kiss her once more.

She reaches up to push off his jacket at the exact same moment he moves to unbutton her dress, and as they fall back onto the bed sheets together, Fitz allows himself to be lost, utterly, to the moment.

 

**_11:39pm_ **

 

Jemma sighs leisurely, her hair prickling at his bare chest.

‘Well, that was rather lovely.’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz murmurs. His hand is resting on the warm skin of her shoulder blades. ‘And I’m sure that, next time, it’ll be even better.’

Jemma had been tracing lazy circles on his abdomen with her finger; now, she stops and lifts her head with a mildly miffed look in her eyes.

‘I…thought it was perfectly fine _that_ time.’

There is a beat, and then Fitz realises what he has said wrong.

‘Oh, no,’ he says out loud, as Jemma tilts her head at him. ‘I mean… _yes_ , it was perfectly fine…’

But, he thinks with a sudden rush, it doesn’t _have_ to just be _fine_.

‘I really need to use the bathroom,’ he says abruptly, and pushes back the duvet to search for his trousers on the floor. ‘Do you mind if I…?’

Jemma shakes her head, evidently a little bewildered. ‘Second door on the left. You have to give the hot water pipe a hard tap for it to work.’

‘Thanks.’

Once in the bathroom, Fitz locks the door behind him, just to be safe, and closes his eyes. Imagining himself back at the exact moment he had decided to enter her room, he clenches his fists and concentrates.

 

**_11:39pm (again)_ **

 

‘Wow.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And I mean, _wow_.’

‘ _Yeah_.’

‘That was…’

‘…incredible?’

‘That’s approximately the word I was looking for, yes.’

‘…’

‘…’

‘Hey, Jemma?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I’ll be right back.’

 

**_11:07_ _pm_ **

 

The third time Fitz travels back in time that night, he doesn’t wait.

As soon as they are inside her flat and the door is closed behind them, just as Jemma is turning around to suggest he wait there while she got her room ready, he surges forward to catch her lips with his.

The boldness of the move takes Jemma by surprise and she starts a little, before melting eagerly into his touch. Sliding his hand around to cradle the back of her head, Fitz walks them backwards until she is pressed flush against the wall and deepens the kiss.

He anticipates her hands moving to push off his jacket and, not wanting to lose the way her fingers are pressed against his neck, shrugs it off for her. Jemma gives a stifled laugh of delight and kisses him harder, her body arching towards his.

‘Well, this is…unexpected,’ she breathes out, as Fitz plants a string of kisses down her neck.

‘I don’t like to be predictable,’ he murmurs, returning to her lips as she threads her fingers through his hair.

Jemma gives a low chuckle. ‘I can see that now-ohh…!’

Her laughter turns into a groan as he grazes his teeth against her bottom lip, something he’d learnt she particularly enjoyed during their second time, and her grip on his hair tightens.

Feeling his veins flood with the now familiar heady rush that came with being so close to her, Fitz takes the opportunity to let his hands slide a little lower. With a small grunt, he lifts her up against the wall and feels her legs wrap around his waist, her weight warm and deliciously heavy.

Jemma kisses him again, her lips suddenly hot and hungry, and Fitz tries not to stagger as he carries her towards the bedroom. He lies her down on the bed without breaking the kiss, and crawls on top of her, feeling her press her legs into his sides as she races to unbutton his shirt.

 _This_ , Fitz thinks, and the thought is ringing in its clarity.

_This is what time travel was meant for._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘One year ago today, we met and my life has never been the same since. From the minute I walked into that party and saw you, I knew that you were going to change my world but, back then, I had no idea how much. I had no idea how much I would grow to love you, and care about you, and laugh with you. I had no idea that you were going to become the best friend I have ever had, and that one day I would want to share the rest of my life with you. But you did. And I do.’
> 
> Fumbling in his pocket, Fitz finds the ring box and draws it out from under the duvet.
> 
> ‘Jemma Simmons,’ he says, hearing the way his voice quivers with emotion but unable to do anything to stop it, ‘will you marry me?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this part is possibly more fitzdaisy focused than fitzsimmons, but they definitely still feature heavily! it is an au for them, after all. this is also where i divert slightly from the film as well, but not detrimentally i hope!
> 
> thank you all for your kind responses to the last part, it makes me so happy to know that you've enjoyed it! hopefully you like part ii just as much!

 

 

**_4 th March, one year later: 11:59pm_ **

 

The next year passes in a blur.

When the lease on his and Hunter’s flat expires in June, it only takes a single journey to transport all of Fitz’s worldly possessions across the city so that he can move in with Jemma. She clears out a space in her wardrobe for him to hang his shirts and jeans, sets out his toothbrush proudly in the bathroom next to her own, and cooks his favourite carbonara dish for dinner to celebrate their first night living together. She wakes him in the morning with a stream of light kisses and the dawn light behind her, and Fitz pretends to be asleep for just a moment longer, before rolling over and kissing her greedily back.

He meets her parents in August, when they come down from Sheffield to visit. It is a fraught afternoon, which requires Fitz to make at least six visits back in time, but the look on Jemma’s face at the end of the evening when she tells him she loves him for the first time makes it all worth it.

He says it back, and it feels like the whole world is slotting into place.

At the beginning of the autumn, he takes her on the train up to Glasgow to meet his mum. Jemma had already met Daisy in London, multiple times, and the two girls had hit it off so alarmingly well that Fitz had momentarily worried that he was about to lose his girlfriend to his little sister.

Andrea Fitz takes to Jemma instantly, just as he had expected she would. Once, when he has been instructed to bring the tea tray through from the kitchen, he pauses outside the living room door to hear them talk.

‘And what,’ Andrea asks, ‘would you consider your greatest fault?’

He has to hold back a snort as he imagines the look on Jemma’s face at being asked such a question.

‘My what, sorry?’

‘Your greatest fault, or your greatest weakness, if you will.’

‘Ah. Well…’ Jemma hesitates, before saying cautiously, ‘I suppose I’m not particularly good at expressing my feelings.’

‘Hmm.’ Fitz imagines his mother’s knowing nod. ‘I see.’

‘But if you want me to be honest,’ Jemma adds after a moment’s pause, ‘I think my greatest weakness would have to be your son.’

‘In which case, my love, that’s one we both share.’ There is a faint rustling, and Fitz imagines Andrea leaning towards Jemma to remark: ‘probably best we don’t tell him that though. Don’t want it to go to his head.’

Fitz allows himself to smile against the doorframe as he listens to Jemma laugh, before knocking loudly and entering.

Three days into their visit, he is waylaid on the stairs by his mother, who draws him into the spare bedroom with a single raised eyebrow.

‘So,’ she asks, folding her arms over her chest, ‘how many times did it take?’

Fitz can feel her eyes boring into him and his face grows hot as he scratches the back of his neck. ‘Uh…three, I think?’

‘Ah.’ Andrea appears to consider this, before giving him a beaming smile and clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Well done, love. That’s not half bad.’

At Christmas, they host their first party in Jemma’s flat. It’s a small affair, and they invite only Trip, Hunter, Bobbi and Daisy, who brings Miles along. In the days leading up to it, Fitz makes secret frantic flow charts of who had met who before in which timeline and which conversations they would remember taking place, in between stringing together paper chains and hanging up branches of holly.

Much to his immense relief, everyone seems to get on well and Jemma beams at him from the kitchen as she plates up canapés and refills glasses with champagne.

‘Hey.’ Fitz takes a seat next to his sister, who has just finished downing her drink.

Daisy grins at him. ‘Hey, yourself.’

‘Enjoying the party?’

‘It’s being thrown by my two favourite people in the universe. How could I _not_ be enjoying the party?’

Fitz grins back at her, but when he catches sight of Daisy’s boyfriend hunched over himself in a corner, picking the smoked salmon off his cracker, he can’t help but remark: ‘Miles doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself very much, though.’

‘Oh, God, no. He’s a total buzzkill.’ Daisy takes the champagne glass he is holding and drinks from it. ‘I’m going to dump him again.’

Fitz snorts.

Daisy and Miles had been together, intermittently, since they were teenagers and had met at a New Year’s party at Fitz and Daisy’s mother’s almost a decade ago. They argued, clashed and provoked one another to no end, yet somehow there was magnetism between them that remained un-severable.

After so many years, Fitz was well versed in, and thoroughly frustrated by, the pattern their relationship followed.

‘And then you’ll get back together three weeks later, yeah?’

Leaning away from him slightly, Daisy narrows her eyes in mock annoyance. ‘I’m sorry, when was the last time I intervened in _your_ love life?’

Fitz opens his mouth, about to smugly remind her of the time she had sat with him in a Claude Monet exhibit for three days straight, listening to audio CDs while he waited in the slim chance that Jemma might turn up, and then closes his mouth again when he remembers that, for Daisy, none of that had ever happened.

Looking at his sister, Fitz feels a sudden wave of affection for her.

‘Never,’ he says fondly. ‘You never have.’

Christmas Day comes and goes, and for the first time in his life Fitz finds himself in somebody’s arms on New Year’s Eve, twirling them both round and round the bedroom floor in their socks. Jemma kisses him as the clocks strike twelve and the taste of her lips is the first thing he knows that year.

But on the fourth of March, it is another midnight that Fitz is waiting patiently for.

They had been in bed for several hours, but the adrenaline pumping around his veins had kept him wide awake, one eye on the digital clock on his bedside table and one hand on the box in his pyjama pocket.

When the clock ticks over, bringing all the numbers back to zero, Fitz takes a deep, shuddering breath and rolls over.

‘Jemma?’

She mumbles, half in and half out of sleep, her back to him. Reaching across the bed to her, Fitz rubs her shoulder with his thumb.

‘It’s midnight,’ he whispers. ‘Happy anniversary.’

Jemma gives a contented sigh, and Fitz smiles to himself before continuing.

‘One year ago today, we met and my life has never been the same since. From the minute I walked into that party and saw you, I knew that you were going to change my world but, back then, I had no idea how much. I had no idea how much I would grow to love you, and care about you, and laugh with you. I had no idea that you were going to become the best friend I have ever had, and that one day I would want to share the rest of my life with you. But you did. And I do.’

Fumbling in his pocket, Fitz finds the ring box and draws it out from under the duvet.

‘Jemma Simmons,’ he says, hearing the way his voice quivers with emotion but unable to do anything to stop it, ‘will you marry me?’

He waits expectantly, for her to turn towards him, to gasp, to kiss him – _anything_. But as the seconds drag by and Jemma remains motionless, Fitz starts to wonder whether a very specific something has gone wrong in his carefully laid plans. When Jemma lets out a soft snore, his suspicions are confirmed.

Stifling a laugh, Fitz rolls onto his back and pushes the box back into his pocket, shaking his head.

_Unbelievable_.

After a moment or two, he kicks back the sheets on his side of the bed and pads out of the room to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he closes his eyes, balls his hands into fists and waits.

 

**_11:59pm (again)_ **

 

‘Jemma?’

‘Hmm?’

He kisses her neck.

‘Wake up.’

Jemma gives a slight moan, wriggling her toes under the duvet. ‘Oh, Fitz. It’s the middle of the night.’

‘I know.’ With a grin, Fitz takes her by the waist and gently pulls her across the bed so they are lying face to face. ‘But this is important.’

He watches as Jemma rouses herself, blinking her eyes owlishly as she comes to focus on him. She sighs, and reaches out a fond hand to pat his cheek.

‘Alright, I’m awake. What’s so important?’

Fitz points behind him, just as the clock display changes to read 00:00.

‘It’s midnight,’ he murmurs. ‘5th of March.’

The date sparks recognition in Jemma’s eyes, and she smiles.

‘Happy anniversary.’

‘Happy anniversary,’ Fitz repeats.

‘One whole year together,’ Jemma reflects happily. She shifts on the mattress, so that she is laying half on top of him, and her head rests perfectly in the crook of his neck. She kisses his pulse point before wondering out loud: ‘what do you think we should do about it?’

Fitz misses a beat.

‘What?’

‘Because I was thinking,’ Jemma says, lifting her head and pushing herself up onto one elbow, ‘that we ought to get married.’ She smiles at him, her eyes bright and full of expectation. ‘What do you think?’

Several moments pass, during which Fitz can only stare at her, blankly. The proposal that had been ready on his lips melts away like a puddle on a hot day, and he finds himself wondering how badly hurt she might be if he made an excuse to hurry out of the room and start the whole process all over again.

But then he sees the hope in Jemma’s face and the love radiating from her as she waits patiently for his response, and realises that whatever he changes, nothing will ever be more perfect than this moment.

In one fluid movement, Fitz reaches for her. Gently, he pulls Jemma down until her lips reach his and then he kisses her, pouring all the sentiments behind the words he had wanted to say into his touches.

‘Yes,’ he murmurs against her lips. ‘I think _yes_.’

 

**_17 th J_ _uly, 9:24pm_ **

 

They get married that summer, neither of them seeing the point in hanging around when they both know that this is exactly what they both want.

Despite them choosing a day in mid-July, Fitz wakes up on the morning of his wedding to grey Glasgow skies and a high of seventeen degrees Celsius. Standing at the altar in the old stone church, he watches his guests shiver as they pull at their linen suits and chiffon dresses, but when the organ starts up and the doors open, they all rise to their feet and Fitz feels his heart jump into his throat.

Jemma walks down the aisle, her hand on her father’s arm and her smile for him alone. As her fingers link with his once she reaches the altar, it feels as if she is filling him like a missing piece.

The service passes all too quickly, and before Fitz knows what is happening there is a gold band on the third finger of his left hand, a matching one on Jemma’s, and she is leaning forward to kiss him even before the priest has finished his sentence.

They leave the church together, hand in hand as husband and wife for the first time, and pause in the archway outside for photographs, first with Jemma’s parents and then with his mother and Daisy. A great gust of wind disrupts one of the shots, just as Daisy is leaning across to plant a kiss on Jemma’s cheek. She ends up grasping at both their skirts instead, while Jemma falls against him with a shriek, and Fitz knows that it is this shot he wants framed and hung on their living room wall.

The photographer is just packing up his equipment when there is a roll of thunder and the heavens open, drenching the entire wedding party within seconds. They hadn’t bothered hiring a wedding car since the church was so close to the Fitzes house, and so there is a mad dash down the road to the marquee in their back garden where the reception is being held.

Fitz and Jemma run ahead, the house keys jumping in Fitz’s jacket pocket, and when they reach the front gate he bends down to slide one arm underneath her knees to lift her up. Jemma laughs as she loops her arms around his neck, and once he has carried her over the rapidly developing puddles and let her down at the entrance of the marquee, she kisses him again, so soundly that he can feel the press of her teeth against his lips.

Towels are passed around as readily as slices of wedding cake, and more than one tin bucket is quickly rescued from the shed to catch the steadily increasing drips of water leaking through the roof. When the tarpaulin finally gives in, ripping in two to douse all the guests with a sheet of cold water for the second time that day, it almost feels like a relief.

Andrea Fitz throws open her conservatory doors and the reception moves inside, crowding into the kitchen to help with the washing up and pushing back the armchairs to create a dance floor next to the fireplace.

‘Do you wish,’ Fitz murmurs into Jemma’s ear, ‘that we could go back and chose another day? Maybe one slightly less…well, _wet_?’

They are spinning in slow circles, wrapped in each other’s arms. Jemma had kicked off her heels hours ago so her head rests just underneath his chin, and tendrils of hair that had been so carefully arranged this morning are spilling down her neck.

Outside, the light is beginning to fade, bathing the room in a rose-coloured glow as their guests begin to make their way down the garden path to waiting taxis. Miles is one of them, and Daisy is fast asleep in an armchair, her bare feet tucked underneath her.

Fitz is thinking absent-mindedly of all the things that had gone wrong that day, and also of his mother’s downstairs bathroom, which he realises would be a perfect place for time travel, when his new wife reaches up one hand to press her palm against his cheek.

‘No,’ Jemma whispers. ‘No, of course not.’

She lifts her face towards him, and their foreheads brush together.

‘Today was absolutely perfect, every part of it. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.’

Feeling a warm rush of affection for her, Fitz slips one hand underneath her cheek and tips her head back to kiss her softly. Jemma returns the favour, parting her lips to deepen the kiss and wrapping her arms around his neck.

‘Okay,’ Fitz hears himself whisper back, a secret smile spreading over his lips. ‘Okay.’

They are pressed so close together that he can feel the slight swell of her stomach brushing against him through her loose fitting dress as they dance. Jemma must have noticed this too, because suddenly her grin is a mirror image of his.

Taking hold of his hand that isn’t holding her, she guides it down to rest on top of her abdomen and Fitz sucks in a breath. He closes his eyes, and allows himself to be lost inside this moment, and the promise of a lifetime still to come.

 

**_3 rd October, 11:15am_ **

 

Alice Rose Fitz-Simmons is born in the early hours of the morning and, just like that, the universe of people Fitz loves grows a tiny bit bigger.

Jemma’s labour had been long and they are both exhausted, emotionally and physically, but as soon as the midwife hands him his newborn daughter, Fitz finds that he isn’t tired anymore. His daughter’s face is pink as a raspberry and her eyes are screwed tightly shut, her button nose wrinkled as if in indignation. She is tiny, small enough for him to cradle with one arm, and Fitz’s fingers shake as he touches the fine wisps of hair on top of her head.

In her hospital bed, Jemma is propped up on pillows with her head leant back to watch them. There is a quiet smile on her face, and Fitz thinks that she has never looked more beautiful.

‘Alice,’ she says, and her eyes light up as though the name is already something precious to them both.

‘Alice,’ Fitz agrees, and their daughter lets out a tiny yawn in appreciation.

Just before mid-morning, Daisy and Andrea arrive weighed down with presents, flowers and bunches of grapes. Fitz watches their faces as they see Alice for the first time, lying fast asleep in Jemma’s arms, and feels a flurry of pride at their matching intakes of breath.

‘She’s _beautiful_ ,’ Daisy gasps, crossing the room to kiss Jemma’s forehead before dropping to her knees to admire her niece.

‘Exquisite,’ Andrea says. She squeezes Fitz’s arm, and he sees that her eyes are shining with happy tears. ‘Absolutely exquisite.’

Jemma passes Alice over to her grandmother, who sinks into the chair beside the bed to examine her. Daisy shuffles across the floor to sit beside her, making gentle cooing noises as she strokes the baby’s cheek with her thumb.

When Jemma holds out her hand to him, Fitz takes it. He sits down on the bed beside her and pulls her carefully towards him, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Jemma settles against his chest and kisses his palm.

‘Watch her head,’ Andrea warns, as she guides Alice into Daisy’s eager arms. ‘And keep her supported. We don’t want to have to find out if she can bounce.’

‘Oh, I bet she could bounce,’ Daisy murmurs. She is cradling Alice with a kind of reverence, rocking her gently. ‘I bet she could do _anything_.’

_Who needs time travel_ , Fitz thinks as he looks at his family in front of him, _when the here and now is as extraordinary as this?_

**_3 rd October, one year later: 3:32pm_ **

 

‘So, where’s Daisy?’

It is a question Fitz can tell is on everyone’s mind as they crowd the small living room of he and Jemma’s new terrace house, even his own. Balloons have been hung from every corner, brightly coloured wrapping is strewed all over the hard-wood floor, and an intricately iced cake is set on the table, but none of them will feel like Alice’s first birthday party is in full swing until her aunt gets here.

Sitting on the floor with his daughter tottering on her unsteady feet in front of him, Fitz cranes his neck to hear how Jemma will answer Bobbi’s question.

‘Oh, she won’t be long now,’ his wife says, and it is only because Fitz knows her so well that he can hear the uncertainty in her voice. ‘She and Miles said they’d be here at three, and we both know how awful the pair of them are at time-keeping…’

Alice gives a sudden shriek, and Fitz’s attention quickly jumps back to her. He puts out his hands to stop her from falling and her fists latch onto his first fingers as tightly as a vice, using him to regain her balance. Once she is back on her feet, she gives him a wide, toothless grin.

‘I’m just saying,’ Bobbi continues, following Jemma back into the living room, ‘Daisy adores Alice; she’s hardly about to miss her first birthday. Have you texted her?’

‘We’ve all texted her, Bob,’ Hunter calls out. He is sitting with Trip on the rug, both of their brows furrowed with concentration as they try to piece together the wooden railroad tracks that Fitz’s mum had sent as Alice’s birthday present. ‘And she hasn’t bothered to reply to _any_ of us…’

 ‘She won’t be long now,’ Jemma repeats. She sets a pile of cake plates onto the table rather sharply, and catches Fitz’s eye across the room. Feeling the knots in his stomach tighten at the look on her face, he slips his phone out of his back pocket and begins to type a new text.

He is half-way through it when the doorbell rings.

‘There!’ Jemma sings triumphantly as Fitz deposits Alice into her arms, having leapt to his feet at the sound. ‘That’ll be her now!’ She chucks their daughter under the chin. ‘Are you excited to see Auntie Daisy? Are you…?’

Grinning to himself, Fitz hurries down the hall to open the front door, his latent apprehension all but forgotten. It quickly returns though, when he finds Miles standing on the welcome mat, and sees that he is completely alone.

Daisy’s boyfriend shifts his weight from one foot to the other, carefully avoiding Fitz’s gaze.

‘Uh, hi.’

Fitz blinks. ‘Where’s my sister?’

At this, Miles does look up.

‘What do you mean? Is she not here?’

‘What do _you_ mean?’ Fitz counters tightly. His heart is starting to thud underneath his jumper. ‘She was supposed to be coming with you.’

Miles shakes his head, and runs his fingers back through his hair.

‘We had a stupid fight this morning,’ he says. ‘We’d got pretty drunk last night, and she ran out. I thought I’d find her here.’ He hesitates, his face paling. ‘She took the car…’

He might say more, but Fitz doesn’t know what. From that moment on, he doesn’t hear another word of what Miles has to say.

**_4:17pm_ **

 

Daisy is lying in a hospital bed, a plaster cast on her arm, a drip in her elbow, and a myriad of cuts and bruises covering her face. Her eyes are closed and her body is limp, and the sight is so irreconcilable with any idea Fitz has of her that he can only stand and stare in dismay.

Jemma has eased past him into the room and is pulling a chair up to Daisy’s bedside, opening her bag to pull out a plastic hairbrush. She has kept herself together up until this moment – her hand steady on his knee during the drive over, her voice calm as she explained to the receptionist who they were – but now Fitz watches her fingers tremble as she reaches out to brush his sister’s unruly hair.

Before he knows quite what he is doing, he has backed out of the room and is running down the corridor.

Miles is sitting exactly where they’d left him in A&E, his leg jiggling anxiously. He springs to his feet once he sees Fitz walking towards him.

‘Is she-?’

‘When did she leave?’

The question seems to throw him.

‘What?’

‘When did she leave?’ Fitz repeats, the blood throbbing in his temples. ‘Tell me, in as much detail and as accurately as you can, exactly when Daisy left yours this morning.’

 

**_3:32pm (again)_**

 

When Alice reaches up to stuff a handful of chocolate cake into her aunt’s mouth, Fitz cannot stop himself from bursting out laughing. Daisy protests, loudly and with crumbs dribbling all the way down her chin, before smearing icing across Alice’s cheeks like war paint in retaliation.

Leaning back against the doorframe to survey the party scene, Fitz finally feels like he can breathe easy again.

He had travelled back in time to seven fifteen that morning, pushing back the duvet to jump in the car whilst still in his pyjamas. He had arrived at Miles’ flat less than twenty minutes later, just in time to have Daisy run into his chest as she was storming out. After bundling her into his car instead of her own, he’d driven her home and that was where she’d been ever since.

She has complained the whole day, and teased him relentlessly for it too, but Fitz has allowed it all to wash over him, knowing full well that the alternative was far, far worse.

Clearly delighted with this new game, Alice decides it is time to start loading her wooden trains with cake and as Fitz turns away from the living room, he hears the loud chorus of _no_ -es coming from Daisy, Trip and Hunter as they scramble to stop her.

He wanders through the hallway, passing Bobbi carrying a set of cake plates in her hands as he does so. In the kitchen, Jemma is finishing the washing up, humming tunelessly as she sets crystal glasses onto the sideboard to drain. Sinking into a chair at the table, Fitz watches her and waits.

After a little while, Jemma sighs and dries her hands on a towel before turning to him. Tilting her head to one side, she smiles, and crosses the room to rest her hand on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, Fitz leans into the warmth of her touch, as soothing to him now as it has ever been.

‘I suppose,’ Jemma murmurs, ‘that this is the part where you tell me exactly _why_ you had to go pick Daisy up so early this morning?’

Fitz shakes his head, before twisting his neck to place a kiss on her wrist.

‘I just had this feeling, y’know? That she needed me to.’

He opens his eyes just in time to see Jemma nod as though she understands, and gratitude floods his heart. When he tugs lightly at her dress, she obliges him, and lowers herself into his lap before wrapping her arms around his neck.

She kisses his cheek, and Fitz rests his hands on her waist.

They stay like that for a few moments, until Fitz ventures cautiously: ‘I think she might be needing more help than just a lift to a party, though.’

Jemma sighs again, heavier than the first time. ‘I know.’

Frowning, Fitz lifts his head to look at her. ‘You do?’

‘Oh, Fitz, honestly.’ Jemma gives him a withering look. ‘This is the third fight she and Miles have had in as many weeks. She’s clearly unhappy with him, and I know that she’s been drinking, too. Her breath smelt so badly of rum this morning I had to lend her your toothbrush to clean her teeth!’

‘You let her use my toothbrush?’

She raps him, gently, on the knuckles, and Fitz feels his heart sink.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, dropping his head to rest it on her shoulder. ‘I’m just scared for her.’

He feels Jemma nod, and pull him in close. ‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘Me too.’

From the living room, they can hear the clamour of their guests; the shrill, excited burbling of the birthday girl rises above the other voices, commanding all their attentions. _I love you_ , Fitz hears his sister say to her, through all the noise. _Can you say_ I love you _too? Can you say that, Ally my Pally?_

‘I have to fix it for her,’ he says, more to himself than to anyone else.

Jemma’s fingers had been drawing patterns on his back, but at this, she goes still. After a moment’s thought, she carefully turns his face towards hers, both her hands resting on either of his cheeks. There is a grave look in her eyes that makes Fitz more than a little worried for what she is going to say next.

‘I know that you want to,’ Jemma says quietly. ‘And, God knows, I want her to be happy just as much as you do. But, Fitz…you can’t fix everything, for everyone. You do know that, don’t you?’

Stubbornly, Fitz keeps quiet. Jemma purses her lips, as though she is about to press the subject with him, but then thinks better of it.

Letting her forehead drop to rest against his, her hands move to cradle the back of his neck.

‘Sometimes, there are parts people have to fix on their own.’

There is a little voice in the back of Fitz’s mind, however quiet, that is willing to concede that she may be right. But there is also a voice that is far louder, and insists to him that he has to try, no matter what.

 

**_25 th October, 5:22pm_ **

 

A couple of weeks later, Daisy decides that she wants to go home for a while.

Fitz, on the pretext of collecting some books from his childhood room, takes the train with her. In reality though, he has a much more important reason for going, and formulates a plan as their carriage hurtles through the Yorkshire countryside.

Once they are back in Glasgow, they let themselves in to their mother’s house, using the spare key she kept under the plant pot by the back door. Fitz meanders about the kitchen as Daisy flicks the kettle on, shuffling papers and opening the biscuit jar to look for a custard cream.

On the cork board on the wall above the jar, there is a photograph of Daisy and Miles, taken on the night they had met. For a moment, Fitz stares at it, before biting into his biscuit with renewed vigour.

Daisy makes two mugs of tea and carries them through to the lounge. Fitz follows her, and winces as she dumps three spoonful’s of sugar into her cup before curling up to sit cross-legged on an armchair.

He takes a seat on the sofa opposite her, and tries to think of a way to start the conversation he has come all this way to have.

After a little while, Daisy rolls her eyes and sets her mug to one side.

‘Okay, out with it.’

‘Out with what?’

‘Whatever it is you want to tell me.’ When he makes a weak protest, Daisy shakes her head. ‘Seriously, Fitz, I know there’s something. You’ve been staring at me for the last five minutes, and besides, I grew up with you, remember. You make the same face whenever there’s something you want to say: you screw up your mouth and you go cross-eyed. Makes you look kind of constipated, actually…’

‘Okay, fine,’ Fitz interrupts, biting back the urge to roll his own eyes at her. ‘There is something,’ he admits, ‘that I want to tell you.’

This piques Daisy’s curiosity, and she unfurls her legs to cross the room and join him on the sofa.

‘Then, tell me.’

‘It’s a secret,’ Fitz warns, looking at her sternly. ‘And you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone, okay? It has to stay between the two of us.’

Daisy nods eagerly. ‘Yeah, of course I promise. What is it?’

Rubbing his hands together, Fitz takes a deep breath.

‘I can travel through time.’

All at once, the smile on Daisy’s face vanishes and she groans.

‘ _Oh_ , God…’

Reaching out, she presses the back of her hand to his forehead, her eyes full of concern. ‘Do you have a fever? Do I need to call an ambulance?’

‘What?’ Fitz pulls her hand away and shakes his head. ‘Daisy, no…’

‘Jemma’s gonna kill me,’ she moans, ‘you’re on a train with me for five hours and I manage to let you lose your freaking mind-‘

‘ _Daisy_.’

His voice is so firm that his sister stops her rambling and looks up at him in surprise. Fitz gives a deep sigh and tries to look as sincere as he can.

‘I’m not mad,’ he says. ‘It’s the truth. I can travel through time.’

Daisy is still watching him warily, but an uncertain smile starts to play on her face.

‘Fitz, if this is some kind of elaborate game you’ve thought up to distract me then I appreciate the effort, really I do, but…’

‘It’s not a game,’ Fitz promises. ‘It’s real, and I can prove it.’ Getting to his feet, he nods to her. ‘Come on.’

With a frown, Daisy jumps up and lets him lead her into the downstairs toilet. Fitz shuts the door behind them and turns off the light that she had immediately turned on.

Daisy holds up her hands in surrender.

‘Alright, Marty McFly. What comes next?’

‘Take my hand.’ She slides her fingers between his, as though she is indulging him. ‘And close your eyes.’

She shuts them, and Fitz takes a moment to breathe in through his nose, saying goodbye to this timeline, before shutting his own eyes and imagining where he wants to go.

 

**_31 st December, ten years ago: 11:51pm_ **

 

‘Okay. You can open your eyes now.’

Daisy’s lids flicker open, and Fitz watches the confusion pass over her face as she listens to the pounding music outside the door, and takes in the pitch black sky outside the window. It is only when she looks at him, though, that her jaw drops.

‘Holy shit.’

Knowing precisely what she is thinking, Fitz nods.

Daisy grips the edge of the sink and stares into the bathroom mirror. She gawps, in disbelief, at her own face, which suddenly looks ten years younger than it had mere moments before.

‘Holy _shit_!’

She looks back at Fitz, stunned into silence before recovering herself a little and putting one hand on her hip.

‘Seriously? The entirety of space and time, and we come back to the lamest party Glasgow has ever known?’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz admits. ‘Sorry.’

‘But _why_?’

‘Because there’s something here that we have to fix.’

After checking that the coast is clear, Fitz ushers them out of the toilet and down the hall to the kitchen. Almost immediately, Daisy digs in her heels.

‘Fitz, stop! It’s almost midnight!’

‘I know! That’s why we have to get to the kitchen!’

‘But I met Miles in the living room,’ Daisy shouts to him over the thump of the bass. ‘That’s where he falls in love with me!’

‘No, it’s not.’ Fitz steers her towards the kitchen table, and loads up a paper plate with cocktail sausages. ‘Not this time, anyway.’

For the rest of the night, he does whatever it takes to avoid them meeting Miles. He and Daisy duck into the room he is just leaving, they hide behind taller guests and, once, they even crawl under the length of the dining room table to escape his sight.

At the end of the party, Fitz stands with Daisy by the window as they watch Miles leave from behind the curtain. On his arm, there is a girl, one neither of them recognise, and they whisper into one another’s ears, giggling, as they go.

‘So,’ Daisy says quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘If he hadn’t found me, he’d have just picked out somebody else to take home that night.’

Fitz nods, with reluctance. ‘Looks that way.’

Daisy screws up her face, and leans her head on his shoulder with a sniff. Feeling something inside him twist unpleasantly, Fitz wraps his arms around her in a tight hug, and kisses the top of her head.

‘You deserve somebody way better than that, you know.’

For a moment, Daisy is still, but then she straightens her back and nods with a grim determination.

‘You know what, Fitz? You’re right. I definitely do.’

Grabbing onto his wrist, she tugs him back through the house to the downstairs toilet, shuts the door and turns off the light.

‘Alright!’ Daisy rubs her hands together and exhales. ‘What happens now?’

‘Not a clue,’ Fitz concedes, ‘but with any luck, from now on you choose to only go out with people who really, truly care about you, and want to keep you safe.’

Daisy gives a soft snort. ‘Uh, okay. When did you get so serious?’

Fitz contemplates giving her a full answer, before deciding against it. Instead, he merely shrugs his shoulders and replies as honestly as he can.

‘Since I realised that I could lose you.’

The playful look in Daisy’s eyes fades away, and she tilts her head to one side in touched surprise. Not wanting to dwell on the subject, Fitz clears his throat and takes her hand again.

‘Get ready. Things will have changed. And they might be weird.’

**_25 th October, 5:22pm (again)_ **

 

Fitz’s eyes fly open, and he glances down at Daisy, who had gasped the moment they’d returned to the present.

‘Oh, my god.’

‘What?’ he scans her face, anxiously. ‘Has something changed?’

Daisy nods, and clamps her hand tightly over her mouth. Her eyes are darting from left to right and her chest is heaving, and Fitz waits for a moment, knowing how disorientating time travel can be.

After a few seconds though, his impatience gets the better of him.

‘What is it? _Who_ is it?’

Daisy looks up at him, and Fitz sees that her eyes are dancing. ‘Trip.’

As soon as she has said his name, a flurry of images pass before Fitz’s eyes – Trip and Daisy laughing together at he and Jemma’s Christmas party; Trip and Daisy twirling in the rain at their wedding; Trip and Daisy holding hands as they coo at Alice in her cradle…

All at once, it all makes so much sense.

‘Seriously?’ Unable to stop the wide grin from spreading across his face, Fitz tries to look incredulous. ‘My Trip?’

‘No.’ Daisy shakes her head, and when she beams up at him Fitz doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look happier. ‘ _My_ Trip.’

She pushes open the toilet door and steps into the hallway, as though there is something – or some _one_ – outside that she is desperate to see. Fitz takes a moment to straighten his face, before following after her.

In the living room, Trip is hunched over Andrea’s wood fire, a basket of logs by his knees and a box of matches on the mantelpiece above him. He looks relaxed, and unabashed about being there, which suggests to Fitz that this isn’t a rare occurrence, not in this timeline anyway.

At the sound of their footsteps, he glances up and gives Daisy a warm, easy smile.

‘Hey, girl.’

She gives him a wave in return that’s almost shy. ‘Hi. What, ah, are you up to?’

Trip gestures to the fire place. ‘Well, while you two were having your super-secret sibling conversation, _I_ realised how cold the house is going to be by the time your mom gets home. So, I figured I’d better make a start building the fire. You wanna help?’

Daisy crouches by his side, her elbow resting on his shoulder as he explains the best way to stoke a fire to her. Fitz sits in an armchair and watches how her shyness quickly melts away into intimacy, as she returns Trip’s simple touches with ones of her own, and banters back to him as easily as if they have been together for years.

Which, apparently, they have.

Glancing up, Daisy catches his gaze over Trip’s shoulder. Fitz waggles his eyebrows, to which Daisy responds by bogging her eyes at him and sticking out her tongue. But then she smiles, and the look of silent gratitude on her face tells Fitz everything she wants to say.

 

**_26 th October, 2:17pm_ **

 

He doesn’t stop smiling the whole way home.

From the train journey back down to London to the taxi ride across the city, Fitz cannot contain the ear-splitting grin that insists on plastering itself across his face.

He can’t supress the feeling of absolute joy bubbling up inside his chest either, and as soon as he has dropped his overnight bag on the mat by the front door, he waylays Jemma coming out of the kitchen to kiss her.

One hand slips behind her neck while the other cradles her back, drawing her closer to deepen the kiss. Jemma responds eagerly, and kisses him back, her lips warm, and welcoming, and tasting of home.

‘I take it you had a good trip, then?’ she murmurs, as Fitz pulls away from her lips and begins peppering feather-light kisses across the rest of her face.

He has no idea what he had used as an excuse to go up to Glasgow in this timeline, so he merely hums in reply, and feels Jemma’s cheek dimple under his lips as she smiles too.

‘It was perfect,’ he tells her. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

When he lifts his face from hers, Jemma pats his chest affectionately.

‘That’s _good_ , Fitz. I’m so pleased. Now…’ Removing her hand from behind his back, she presents him with a bowl of partially mashed banana. ‘Would you mind finishing lunch? I would do it, but I need to have my adjustments ready to email to work by three.’

Fitz shakes his head, and takes the bowl from her. ‘Say no more. There’s nothing in the world I’d rather do.’

Jemma flashes him a grateful smile, and presses one last kiss to his lips before disappearing up the stairs to their shared office. Shrugging off his coat, Fitz makes his way through to the living room, using the spoon to finish mashing up the fruit.

‘Are we ready then?’ he calls as he enters the room and sets the bowl onto the table. ‘Are we ready for the absolutely magnificent, utterly delicious, positively mouth-watering delicacies whipped up _chez_ Fitzsimmons?’

The light pattering of footsteps across the floorboards towards him makes Fitz grin, and he turns around to scoop their owner up, his hands settling on a warm, round body and lifting it up until he is face to face with-

His son.

For several terrible moments, Fitz finds that he can’t move. His previous smile has been wiped off his face and now he can only stare, blankly, at the baby in front of him.

This is quite clearly he and Jemma’s child; there’s no doubt about that. He has her wide, inquisitive eyes and Fitz’s unruly head of hair. A smattering of freckles covers his button nose, and he blows an impatient raspberry and makes a grabbing motion with his tiny hand for Fitz’s face, obviously anticipating the rest of his dinner.

This is their child, Fitz knows it with a horrible certainty.

But it isn’t Alice.

Slowly, he lowers himself and the baby back to the ground, breathing shallowly through his nose to stop himself from being sick. Their son’s face falls and he gives Fitz an indignant look, so reminiscent of Jemma that it feels like a punch in the gut and he has to gulp down a breath.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says out loud, although he isn’t sure quite who he is speaking to.

Looking down at the baby, Fitz sees that he has stuck his thumb into his mouth, and carefully uses his little finger to hook it back out again. He gets to his feet.

‘It’s alright. I’ll be right back.’

Turning on his heel, Fitz walks out of the living room and opens the door to the cupboard underneath the stairs. Hearing the baby start to wail now he has been left on his own, he lets one tear of his own trickle down onto his cheek before slamming the door behind him.

**_3 rd October, one year earlier: 11:15am_ **

 

‘Mum? Can I have a word?’

Andrea is standing by Jemma’s bedside, a far-away look on her face as she watches her new-born granddaughter stretch her small face into a yawn. She responds though, to Fitz’s light touch on her arm.

‘Of course, love.’ She smiles at him. ‘What is it?’

Taking her gently by the elbow, Fitz pulls her across the room and out of the door. Luckily, both Jemma and Daisy are so utterly absorbed by Alice that they don’t even seem to notice the two of them leave.

By the time he has shut the door after them, his mother is frowning.

‘Leo?’

Realising that there was no point beating about the bush, Fitz decides just to come out with it.

‘I can’t travel back in time past the birth now, can I?’

‘Ah.’ Understanding dawns in Andrea’s eyes, and she shakes her head. ‘No, love, I’m afraid not. You see, that particular moment in time got you and Jemma this particular baby. If you go back, if you change anything, then you’ll be changing that moment too. And when you change the moment-‘

‘I change the baby,’ Fitz finishes for her, his heart sinking.

His mother nods. ‘Unfortunately so. Every day up until yesterday is lost, my darling, just like it is for anybody else. You can’t change it now.’

Fitz allows this information to sink in, before turning to peek through the window of the door. Through it, he can see both his wife and his sister, their matching dark heads bent over the tiny bundle of blankets in Jemma’s arms as they whisper together. His heart aches with how much he loves all three of them.

As if she can feel his eyes on her, Jemma looks up. She smiles at him, and Fitz manages to muster up enough courage to smile back at her. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he hears the words she’d spoken to him however many timelines ago: _Sometimes, there are parts people have to fix on their own_.

‘Leopold.’ His mother’s voice, firm but mildly concerned, brings him back to the present. She tilts her head to him. ‘Is everything alright?’

Taking a deep breath, Fitz nods.

‘Yeah. Yeah, it will be.’ He steps forward and gives her a brief hug. ‘I love you, Mum. But there’s somewhere I really need to be.’

 

**_4 th October, one year later: 2:03am_ **

 

Daisy finally wakes in the early hours of the next morning, blinking her eyes groggily open, only to find Fitz and Jemma waiting on either side of her hospital bed.

She groans, and as she rolls her head back onto the pillows Fitz imagines that the events of the previous day are flooding back to her – her fight with Miles, storming out, the accident. He feels a wave of guilt that he’d had to put them back into her memory, and swallows hard.

‘Go home,’ Daisy croaks to them.

Shaking her head, Jemma reaches out to take her hand, folding her fingers with Daisy’s. Following her lead, Fitz does the same.

‘No,’ Jemma says, and she gives Daisy’s hand a soft pump. ‘Not yet.’

‘Not until,’ Fitz adds, ‘we figure out what to do to stop anything like this from happening ever again.’

Pursing her lips, Daisy closes her eyes again and sighs.

**_9:47am_ **

 

They stay with her for the rest of the night, calling the nurse when she needs extra painkillers, waking her when she starts to shake with bad dreams and trekking down the hallway at five am to find a plastic straw when the cast on her arm starts to itch.

Daisy is all but silent the entire time, but Fitz can tell she is brooding deeply, even as she shuffles past him to the bathroom, leaning heavily on Jemma’s arm. It is almost mid-morning before she sits up straight and fixes him with a grim look.

‘I’m going to break up with Miles.’

Fitz raises an eyebrow.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. And we’re not going to get back together this time. We aren’t right for each other anymore, and trying to hold on…’ Daisy shrugs, before wincing at the pain it brings to her arm. ‘Well, it’s doing us both more harm than anything else, isn’t it?’

Beside him, Fitz hears Jemma exhale softly while his own lungs expand with relief.

‘Good,’ Jemma whispers, before reaching over to press Daisy to her in a gentle hug. ‘That’s _good_.’

Daisy gives a rueful grin. ‘I bet you’re both thinking this is _long_ overdue, right?’

‘Maybe,’ Fitz admits, ‘but it wasn’t something we could do for you, I’m afraid. You had to get there on your own.’

By the time they’re pulling on their coats to leave, Daisy has cheered up immeasurably, and is making impressive progress on using her left hand to spoon cereal into her mouth. Watching her, Fitz is hit with an idea as he passes Jemma her scarf.

‘Hey, you’ve got Trip’s number, haven’t you?’

Daisy swallows her mouthful of cereal and frowns. ‘Trip? Uh, yeah, I think so. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, I just thought you might like to call him.’

‘And why would I want to do that?’

Fitz feigns surprise as he leans over to kiss her on the forehead. ‘Didn’t you know? He’s always had a bit of a thing for you.’

Once he and Jemma have said their goodbyes, Fitz can’t resist lingering outside Daisy’s door, just long enough to watch her pick up her phone and key in a message, a familiar look lighting up her eyes.

**_10:09am_ **

 

When he and Jemma get home, there is a stubborn wailing coming from deep inside the house, and when Bobbi opens the door for them Fitz sees that she has a piece of green Lego stuck in her hair.

‘Oh, thank God,’ she breathes, ushering them both inside. ‘How is she?’

Fitz doesn’t wait to hear Jemma’s reassuring reply about Daisy. Instead, he ducks underneath Bobbi’s arm and hurries down the hall towards the living room, his heart bursting with impatience. He walks through the doorway and almost sobs out loud as the baby in the room turns her face towards his and it is red, and tearstained, and unmistakably Alice’s.

She lifts her pudgy arms up to him with a cry, and within a moment Fitz has scooped her up to cradle her against his chest. He closes his eyes as he feels her sobs subside to hiccups, and rocks her gently back and forth, one hand resting on the flyaway curls on top of her head. He breathes in her familiar baby smell of bubble bath and sweetness, and feels hot tears well up in his own eyes.

‘There now,’ he murmurs once Alice is only snuffling, wiping her nose across his jacket shoulder. ‘There now.’

Inhaling deeply, Fitz sinks down to sit on the edge of the sofa, resting Alice on his knee. He uses his sleeve to dry the remnants of her tears then ducks his head to press his lips to her forehead.

‘I’ve got you,’ he tells her. ‘And I missed you.’

**_8:34pm_ **

 

It is not a usual evening, and because of this Alice’s bedtime routine goes unforgivably out of the window.

Jemma has nothing in to cook a viable meal with, and so they order Chinese food and picnic on the living room floor. Alice totters between the two of them to take tasters off their chopsticks, smacking her lips at the new flavours. She particularly likes the sweet and sour sauce, and ends up sucking on the end of a chopstick dipped in it.

She falls asleep on her blanket, curled up like a cat, and Fitz and Jemma quietly carry the plates through into the kitchen before collapsing on the sofa with matching exhausted sighs.

‘Bed soon,’ Jemma mutters, and Fitz grunts in agreement.

He lifts his arm up wordlessly and Jemma shifts so that she is tucked into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. She still smells faintly of the hospital, sharp but musty at the same time, and it makes Fitz shudder. Jemma notices, and she reaches out to take hold of his hand.

‘It’s alright, now,’ she whispers, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘Daisy’s alright. Everything’s going to be okay.’

Fitz nods, feeling tears prick behind his eyes as the events of the last twenty-four hours – ten years, next three weeks, three different timelines – wash over him. In his head they muddle together, blurring at the edges until he can’t tell which event belongs to which timeline anymore.

‘I was so scared,’ he says thickly.

Jemma sighs, and twists herself slightly so that she can wrap her free arm around his neck. Gently, she drops her head so that they are resting temple to temple, and Fitz can feel her soft pulse beat against his skin. In his lap, she rubs her thumb across his palm.

‘I know.’

They stay like this for several minutes, and Fitz’s eyes fall shut. He tries to think of something to say to Jemma, to let her know how grateful he is for her and for everything she has given to him. He wants to tell her, in as precise a phrase as possible, how precious every moment they live together is to him.

But the words don’t come to him in time, and when Jemma nudges his forehead with her own, tipping his face to where she can reach it, Fitz lets her kiss him instead.

The kiss is soft, the merest brushing of her lips against his, and something about it feels like healing. Still with his eyes closed, Fitz angles his head to make it easier for her lips to fall over his and allows the sensation to wash over him, filling him to the brim.

He kisses her back, one hand coming up to thread his fingers through her hair while the other presses against her waist, his thumb hooking through the belt-loop of her jeans. Jemma smiles, her lips stretching against his. Their kisses become deeper, and a little bit faster, until they take on a rhythm that is as familiar to Fitz as his own heartbeat.

Jemma’s arms loop around his neck and with his next kiss he lifts her in one fluid movement, guiding her legs so that she is straddled across his lap. She kisses him, her lips effortlessly fitting to the shape of his own, and the love that Fitz can feel in that one kiss alone is enough to leave him breathless.

‘I love you,’ he says, as his lips slide down to kiss the corners of her mouth, her chin and her throat. In his mind, Fitz imagines the words seeping into her skin. ‘I love you. So much.’

Jemma gives a breathy chuckle, and he feels her shiver as his kisses press lower and lower. ‘Oh, do you now?’ Fitz kisses her lips again, slower and softer, and she sighs with pleasure. ‘What do you want?’

She says it as a tease, absent-mindedly as she moves to kiss him back, but an answer springs to Fitz’s mind all the same.

‘Another baby.’

It takes him almost as much by surprise as it takes Jemma. She freezes, her lips so close to his own that he can feel their heat, and then pulls back. Under the dim light of the table lamp, Fitz can see that her eyes are warm and dark.

‘What?’

Fitz swallows, rubbing his lips together. They taste like crispy duck, cinnamon, and Jemma.

‘Let’s have another baby,’ he repeats, his voice more of a whisper this time.

Jemma blinks at him, her hands sliding down his shoulders to rest against his chest as she sinks into his lap. Aware that she can probably feel how hard his heart is thumping beneath his shirt, Fitz sucks in a breath.

‘Have you been thinking about this long?’ Jemma asks, and there is no admonishment in her tone, only surprise.

‘No.’ Fitz shakes his head, and there is a slight pause before he admits, ‘actually, I don’t think it had even crossed my mind until I said it. But now that I have…’ He shrugs, and looks up at her. ‘I can’t think why it didn’t occur to me before.’

Jemma’s brows had furrowed; but now her face softens and she gives him a half-smile.

‘Does what happened with Daisy have anything to do with why you’re suddenly thinking about it?’

‘Partly,’ Fitz says, wholly in love with how well she knows him. ‘She’s a pain in my arse, yeah, but she’s also really important to me. I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up without her.’

He glances over Jemma’s shoulder to where their daughter is still lying fast asleep on her rug. Jemma follows his gaze, and her fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt.

‘I want Alice to have that,’ he continues softly. ‘I want her to have a brother or a sister to grow up with, to be important to. I want that for her.’

Jemma is still staring at Alice, and when Fitz looks up at her and sees the deep, wistful expression on her face, he feels a silent thrill as he realises that she is considering his proposal.

‘So, that’s part of the reason,’ Jemma says after a few moments. ‘What’s the rest of it?’

A lock of hair has fallen over her shoulder, across her face, and Fitz leans forward to brush it back and tuck it behind her ear. An unexpected memory surfaces, of a time when he had wanted nothing more than to do this. They had been outside a restaurant of blind waiters in London, in a timeline Jemma has never lived.

Fitz finds himself thinking about that moment, about the one they are living now, and about everything that has happened in between.

‘Because I love you,’ he says, as simply as he can. ‘And because of that, I want to have another baby with you.’

When Jemma bends her head to kiss him once more, her cheeks wet and her smile wide, Fitz understands that she is saying _yes_.

‘I’ll get fat again,’ she warns him, the words mumbled against his lips.

Fitz shakes his head, one hand moving to the back of her neck while the other holds her at her waist. He dips her, ever so slightly, as he kisses her back. ‘You’ll be beautiful.’

‘My feet will swell.’

‘Then I’ll rub them for you, every night.’

‘I’ll be deliciously grumpy all nine months, and have every reason to be.’

‘And I will respect that, and bring you home flowers and tell you how wonderful you are.’

‘I’ll expect you to be with me,’ Jemma says, lifting her head up for just long enough to rub her nose against his. ‘ _All_ the time.’

She is teasing him again, and Fitz grins as he pulls her close and kisses her, every part of his body feeling light and loved. Just as he had the very first time they had kissed, he can feel the rest of their lives in the shape of Jemma’s lips.

‘So, I’ll be here,’ he promises. ‘All the time.’

 

~

 

There are many possible ways for a person to make use of their time travelling ability. Over the next two years, Fitz tries out almost every single one.

He goes to Andrea first, and takes notes on all the different methods their family had employed in the past. Then, he tries them out, one by one, making a mark by each in his notebook afterwards to denote their effectiveness.

Jemma, he thinks with a smile, is finally rubbing off on him.

He tries what his grandfather had used it for, and borrows several armfuls of heavy, cloth-bound, plastic-covered classics from the library. Steadily, he works his way through them, in between taking his daughter to nursery and his wife to bed. He reads all of Tolstoy twice. Dickens, _three_ times.

Next, Fitz tries what his great-aunt had done, travelling back in time any time he does or says something that makes him wince. This seems to work out fairly well, particularly at work, and for a while he is fairly convinced of it. He stops though, after he gets through one lunch with his sister and Trip without embarrassing himself and Daisy smacks him on the arm and tells him off for _being so weird_.

He decides to skip his mum’s grandfather’s method. However unsure Fitz may be about what time travel is for, he is fairly certain it is not for trainspotting.

When the summer comes, Alice starts talking and Jemma presents him with a positive pregnancy test, her eyes shining. As he is holding them both to him, kissing first one laughing face and then the other, Fitz decides that it is time to try his mother’s method.

For the next six months, he lives each day twice over – once as ordinarily as possible, the next watching for how extraordinary a single day could be.

As the weeks pass, Fitz starts to understand the merit in this. He notices things he might not have done otherwise, like how Alice’s curls are beginning to grow straight and turn hazelnut brown. He does and says things that he wouldn’t have thought about; he tells Hunter that Bobbi wants him to take her out to dinner and he rings his mother, just to remind her how much he loves her.

But it is on the day that he and Jemma return from the hospital, carrying their new-born son fast asleep in his car seat between them, that Fitz decides it is time to find his _own_ way of using time travel.

‘Are you happy now?’ Jemma asks him.

They are lying on their bed, their bodies curved towards each other. Down by their feet, Alice is snoring, one hand clutching Fitz’s ankle in her sleep. Her baby brother, however, is now awake, kicking out his tiny feet and stretching out his fingers towards the ceiling. Fitz touches the tip of his little finger to his son’s palm and feels him grasp at it, hold it tight.

He smiles, and nods.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am.’

From that day on, Fitz stops travelling back in time.

Instead, he starts to live each day as if he has already lived it, and has deliberately chosen to return to it in order to enjoy it in all its extraordinary ordinariness. Fitz likes to think of it as if he and Jemma are travelling through time together, the beat of their hearts marking out the days they spend side by side.

All they can do is relish what each new day decides to bring.

 

 


End file.
